


chasing after yesterday

by dragonair, hajitoru, kanonicity, rronanllynch



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aobajousai, Getting Together, Marriage, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Olympics, Somewhat canon divergent, Sportsfest 2020, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25227199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonair/pseuds/dragonair, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hajitoru/pseuds/hajitoru, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanonicity/pseuds/kanonicity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rronanllynch/pseuds/rronanllynch
Summary: attachment, to detachment, and back again—the varied phases of the closeness between the seijoh third years after they all go their separate ways post-graduation.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 11
Kudos: 103





	chasing after yesterday

**June 2019**

Hajime learns quickly that making plans as adults is even more complex and irritating than it is as teenagers. When everyone goes to the same school, has relatively similar schedules, things tend to fall into place without complications—perhaps a few scattered rain checks and forgotten study sessions here and there, but things always worked themselves out in the end.

Shifting into the circular, confusing form of adulthood, having to read between the lines of “maybes” that lean onto _no_ rather than _yeah_ , _I’ll see you Saturday_ —these aren’t things Hajime had prepared for in his final year of high school. He clutched to the invisible fraying ends of friendships he’s always assumed would stick around for good. 

Needless to say, trying to schedule a free weekend where the three counterparts of his teenage years is more than difficult. 

“You really think he’s going to come all the way from _Argentina_ to see us?” Hanamaki laughs through the phone and Hajime can perfectly imagine his friend throwing his head back, wrapping an arm around his stomach, and making a visible fool out of Hajimei’s naivety. 

“Yes,” Hajime answers, nonetheless, because he knows Oikawa will do all he can to make the trip, even if Hanamaki and Matsukawa are of different opinions.

“Matsukawa thinks you’re an idiot.”

“I don’t really care what Matsukawa thinks,” Hajime says, and he doesn’t. He doesn’t care about what either of them have to say, because he knows Oikawa and he knows that more than anything, Oikawa values and cherishes his friends. 

Hajime holds onto that knowledge of Oikawa as the trip gets closer. 

Oikawa dodges his calls? He holds onto it. Oikawa values and cherishes his friends. 

Hanamaki and Matsukawa start making reservations for only three people instead of four? Hajime’s mind ignores them and repeats: Oikawa values and cherishes his friends. 

It’s the week before, and Oikawa has finally picked up his call. Even as he hears Oikawa take a deep breath in, he holds onto it. _Oikawa values and cherishes his friends_. 

“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to make it, Iwa. Coach wants us to start preparing for next season already, so we don’t have much time to travel unless it fits his idea of practicing.” 

Hajime already regrets even considering calling Oikawa to ask, not just because he’s getting rejected, for lack of better phrasing, but because he can hear the remorse in Oikawa’s voice, the inner disappointment that Oikawa keeps close to himself when things don’t turn out the ways he wants them to. 

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa adds, and Hajime wants to force himself through the tiny speaker of his phone, somehow break the laws of physics and biology and everything to become the smallest version of himself and run through the phone lines to be next to Oikawa, because not just hearing, but feeling the reassurance is something Hajime has learned works best for Oikawa.

Hajime hates the long-ignored sadness and separation between the two of them with every inch of his heart and mind. He wishes things were different, that Oikawa had actually gone off to college (the rival school of his own university, in fact), and stayed in Japan for a couple of years longer rather than hopping on a plane to Argentina and diving head first into the realm of professional volleyball.

This isn’t to say that Hajime isn’t proud of him, happy that Oikawa’s going after all the goals he’s talked about all his life. He’s more than proud of the fact that his best friend is moving up—but that pride is a double-edged sword, the points curve into joy for Oikawa’s prosperity and a confusing hopelessness because of Oikawa’s absence.

“Oh,” Hajime says finally, unknowing of the awkwardness that had started growing in the anticipation of his response. 

He shifts his gaze down to the uneven wooden floor of his living room. He picks out the cracks, little fractures that crawl across all the boards. His eyes follow them all the way to the wall—the pause, the stop. 

“That’s alright,” he adds quickly, “I know you’d hop on the next plane if you could.”

“I _would_ ,” Oikawa insists. 

“I get it.”

Silence spreads between them—uneasy waves bouncing back and forth in the ocean that keeps them apart. Hajime can almost see Oikawa, nails digging into his knees and eyes squeezed tight.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, dumbass,” Hajime says, “there’ll be other times.”

He hears Oikawa inhale, a little shaky.

“Seriously,” he goes on, “I’ll walk over there and kick your ass if you get all emotional, Tooru.”

“You’re not Jesus, _Hajime_ ,” Oikawa says and Hajime can envision his cheeky smile, the tilt of his head and the playful glint in his eyes—the gentle banter is back and Hajime can breathe again.

“Don’t bring religion into this. I’ll genuinely kill you.”

“Oh, right,” Oikawa hums. “My apologies, I forgot that _I’m_ the only recipient of your dutiful and everlasting faith, Iwa.”

Hajime doesn’t even waste a breath before he hangs up the phone. He tosses it onto the pillow next to him and waits for it to start ringing again.

When Oikawa’s annoying ringtone—the one that sounds like stupid starships and jingles, the one he picked years ago just because Hajime had so vocally despised it—chimes, Hajime lets it ring.

Oikawa can’t make it.

The realization stings more than Hajime expects. It’s not even that Hanamaki was right for laughing at him and his naive belief in Oikawa dropping everything to book a flight and come to Hajime’s university in Tokyo—it’s the fact that for a tiny moment, for those few rings before Oikawa had picked up the phone, Hajime had been ignorant to the reality of not only Oikawa’s life, but his own and all the ways that Oikawa isn’t a part of it anymore. 

Life plays out like this for everyone, Hajime tells himself. Everyone grows distant from the people that mean most to them because of different interests, opposite winding paths that they have to walk to succeed—and it’s fine. It has to be fine. Maybe one day in the future their paths will wrap around each other and bring them back to the teenage closeness that Hajime has become too accustomed to.

Or maybe they won’t.

Maybe high school friendships aren’t the end all be all of life and Oikawa is going to keep flying higher and higher until Hajime will only be able to see the glimpse of his shadow in the sun.

And that’ll be fine, too.

In the morning, as Hajime’s shoving half-burnt toast into his mouth and chugging as much iced coffee as his stomach can handle, a text notification from Oikawa pops up on his screen. He fumbles with his phone for a bit, failing entirely in having a good grasp of it, but somehow manages to unlock it and open his messages.

The first thing he sees is the block of hearts and pointless emojis, so he scrolls up a bit, and stares directly at a picture of Oikawa grinning at an airport terminal, ticket in hand, with Tokyo imprinted in small letters beside the word “to”.

* * *

Joy buoys Hajime through the next week. 

Through his classes: Oikawa is coming.

Through his shitty part time job: Oikawa is coming.

Through his gloating phone call to Hanamaki where the other boy complains about having to change their reservations to four people, it keeps him afloat like a prayer. _Oikawa is coming_. 

When he gets to the airport, Oikawa is already there by the turnstile searching for his beat up duffle bag amongst the rest of the luggage. He’s just grabbed it when Hajime interrupts him. 

“Oi, moron.” 

Oikawa drops the strap and spins around, a grin blooming across his face unselfconsciously. He ignores his bag in favor of running at Hajime, giving Hajime only a second before jumping into his arms like they’re children again.

And it feels like they’re children again.

Hajime ignores the self-consciousness crawling up his throat in favor of spinning Oikawa around and burying his face where Oikawa’s neck meets his shoulder. He still smells the same. Months and miles between them couldn’t change this. 

He finally puts Oikawa down and they both look away, pretending like they’re not wiping their eyes. Oikawa gathers his stuff and they walk to the car together, Hajime laughing while Oikawa tells a story about his flight. 

“So, then I see the woman get up and I’m like okay that’s whatever but why did she ring the flight attendant?” 

“Right, so why did she get up?” 

“Well, oh my god Hajime, she falls down in the aisle and then…” Oikawa pauses for dramatic effect, “the smell hits.” 

Hajime’s laughter echoes off the walls of the parking garage. 

“No way, Oikawa, she did not shit herself on the plane.” 

Oikawa grimaces in remembrance. 

“She did. And we still had three hours left.” 

Oikawa’s laughter is like a balm on the anxiety and worry and disappointment of the past few months. It’s just like old times and Hajime scolds the part of his brain that ever worried it would be different. 

The conversation dies out when they get to Hajime’s car. The silence between them isn’t oppressive, at first. They used to share silences all the time, comfortable and angry and tense and sad and this is just another silence. A new silence. A silence that forces Hajime to fiddle with the radio and turn on music that Oikawa says he’s never heard before. A new silence, that makes Hajime feel like his heart is being wrapped in creeping vines. 

They drop off Oikawa’s things at his hotel before heading to a restaurant to meet Hanamaki and Matsukawa who are naturally already there, arguing over what type of appetizer to get. 

Oikawa hugs them just as tightly as he hugged Hajime, and the vines creep a little tighter around his heart. They’re all friends, Oikawa missed them all equally. Hajime should be comforted by that. Comforted that there are so many things tying Oikawa to Japan, tying Oikawa to him. 

Finally after ordering and doing surface level catching up, the same silence that fell over the car falls over the table, now including Hanamaki and Matsukawa in it’s grip. 

Oikawa starts to tell a story about one of his teammates, but something is lost in translation and it falls flat. Hajime and the other boys laugh awkwardly, and Hajime ignores the way Hanamaki and Matsukawa glance at each other. 

The silence descends over the table again. 

“Did I tell you about when Matsukawa got kicked out of Iwaizumi’s campus library?” 

Hanamaki makes an attempt, but Oikawa shuts it down with a reluctant look on his face.

“Yeah. Yeah, uh, last time we facetimed.” 

“Oh.” 

The silence tightens its grip. 

The fall back into reminiscing about things that happened when they were in school. Talking about old teachers and teammates and how Kyoutani is still full of anger apparently. 

But even their years of friendship can only take up so much time, and by the time the check arrives the silence has returned full force.

Hajime can’t stand it. Can’t stand the growing despair that is creeping across Oikawa’s face, and the pace at which Hanamaki is drinking beers just to do something with his hands. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. Things were supposed to be normal. 

Things weren’t normal. 

They all decide against drinks, and Hajime drives Oikawa home with the radio playing old songs to try and numb the hurt. He wants to say something. Something about the awkwardness, the silence, about how Oikawa could have tried harder, how he could have tried harder. How this shouldn’t be like this. How much he misses Oikawa, and it feels like Hajime’s still missing him even though he’s in the passenger seat. 

He drops Oikawa at his hotel, and he still hasn’t said anything. He watches Oikawa half smile before going through the silent glass doors, and Hajime can feel Oikawa slipping away from him. 

The vines around his heart tighten again, and he can feel the beats stuttering. Hajime didn’t know this is what heartbreak felt like.

**August 2019**

Issei remembers the night before. The four of them spread on the floor of Iwaizumi’s apartment surrounded by piles of clothes in an attempt to help Oikawa pack. Their efforts dissolve into Oikawa trying to distract Iwaizumi, who is the only one of them actually making an effort, while Issei and Makki commentate. There’s a familiar crease between Iwaizumi’s brows as he rolls up some pants, but his voice is just a bit softer and the proud glint in his eyes is ever present. Iwaizumi is the definition of tough love, especially when it came to Oikawa. He makes less of an effort to feign annoyance and lets Oikawa hang off of him for the rest of the night.

Issei watches them a little longer before getting hit in the face by a t-shirt. He finds Makki grinning his way and Issei responds by rolling his eyes and wiggling his eyebrows. Somehow this leads to Makki using some of Oikawa’s hair products and tries to style Issei’s hair. _A valiant effort Makki, but Mattsun could never pull off my gorgeous hairstyle._ It takes about three hours to get everything packed and somehow the night ends with Issei catching Oikawa shoving one of Iwaizumi’s shirts into the bottom of his backpack. Oikawa stares back with wide eyes and Issei snickers and abandons his mission to get a glass of water. He shakes his head and hopes they can have moments like this before the year ends. 

Summer is nowhere near over, but with the different schedules and volleyball practices in a different country start up, it feels too soon before one of them has to leave yet again. 

At least the airport has air conditioning. 

Issei tilts his head back and looks at Hiro to his right. "How long do you think it'll be ’til Oikawa starts telling us about his trip back?" 

"The minute he gets through security," Makki says far too quickly with a smile.

"I'm still here you know," Oikawa pouts. "I know you'll all miss me dearly anyways.”

Issei leans forward to glance at Iwaizumi, who still hasn't said much since they arrived. Issei knows more than anything, who's both bothered and the proudest of Oikawa for leaving. Still, Iwaizumi's lips are pursed as he hands Oikawa back his luggage. 

The four of them walk side by side and stop short of where security is. They stand awkwardly, uncertain what to say next until a family with a crying baby passes by. Oikawa's face scrunches up and soon the other three are doubled over laughing.

"Good luck dealing with that," Makki snorts.

Eventually their laughter settles down and Iwaizumi pats Oikawa's shoulder as he groans. They're both smiling. This time around, Oikawa is nearly not as dramatic in his farewells, though he does promise to make sure to keep his _biggest fans_ updated on what he is up to. They even manage to take a group photo just before Oikawa's phone buzzes that he should probably hurry up. He gives each of them a hug and if he lingers and holds Iwaizumi longer, Issei and Makki don't say anything about it just yet.

Oikawa gives one final wave over his shoulder before taking his spot in line for the security check, and the remaining three stand side by side and watch him go. Once he's through the gate, this time Iwaizumi is the first to turn and starts walking away. Issei and Makki share a look before striding up on either side of their friend. Makki throws an arm around their former ace's shoulders and the three walk out of the airport to the sounds of their phones buzzing in unison. 

_This time around things are easier,_ Issei thinks. _At least it feels a bit easier._

And things are, at least for the first weeks following Oikawa's departure. Issei and Makki stay with Iwaizumi for the rest of the summer, sending their own photos and updates to their group chat. The three don't feel as complete, but nevertheless have a fun time together while they can. Oikawa calls late one night and the three are huddled around Iwaizumi's phone in his apartment once more until the sun rises. The calls like Oikawa’s days off are rarer and though none of them will admit it to his face yet, they miss Oikawa all the same.

Then the time comes for Issei and Makki to leave Tokyo for Miyagi. It feels wrong to leave Iwaizumi alone in Tokyo, though it's not like either have much of an option with their own semester starting soon. When Issei and Makki part at the train station to head back to their own houses, there's a wave and a few words shared beyond _see you around_ and _let's catch dinner or something before classes start up_. Issei glances over his shoulder and can't spot Makki anymore before shrugging and making his way home.

Classes start and Issei likes to think he's not the worst at keeping up with the group chat. The lack of new messages in it for days or even weeks on end is familiar. It's just like their first year separated all over again and he expects as much. He jokes in the chat about Oikawa being abducted by aliens when his messages stop all together for a week. The only reply he gets is hours later from Makki about how Iwaizumi told him that the setter has been pushing himself too hard and his schedule doesn’t give him any needed breaks. He wonders how long Iwaizumi’s luck will last before he stops getting replies or anything from Oikawa. He wishes it isn’t anytime soon. 

Keeping in touch and talking with Iwaizumi is easier most days. Their texts remain stagnant save for a time and hour when they would call and catch up over the phone. Iwaizumi does not gossip, but it’s sort of comforting hearing his worries about keeping touch with everyone. Each call is not nearly as awkward as the last, and they trade lecture horror stories for a while, tease and laugh at each other over old memories until Issei’s roommate grumbles through the door for him to shut up. He keeps laughing and he can’t say he regrets it much either.

Issei ends up messaging Makki the most outside of it. They continue to make plans for meeting up and few actually end up happening. Those are the nights he spends too many hours thinking about how he would feel if Makki went to school farther or was just as sporadic. The thought plants itself in the back of his mind and he finds it harder to talk to the others sometimes. No shrugs or shoulder bumps, eyebrows raised or half-hidden smiles to tell him anything else about how they are other than whatever he reads in their texts.

Issei stops his studying when his phone rings and swipes to pick up. They haven't all fallen out and they haven't hit the point of complete radio silence. It's still something and he's more than okay with that.

**Hanamaki’s Phone, February 2020**

[34 MINUTE PHONE CALL WITH OIKAWA]

[56 MINUTE PHONE CALL WITH MATSUKAWA]

[45 MINUTE PHONE CALL WITH IWAIZUMI]

[CALENDAR NOTIFICATION: BOYS’ WEEKEND]

[CALENDAR NOTIFICATION: BOYS’ WEEKEND CANCELLED] 

[1 TEXT FROM MATSUKAWA]

Matsukawa: Wanna get drinks this weekend since Oikawa and Iwaizumi bailed? 

Hanamaki: Sure!

**Iwaizumi’s Phone, March 2020**

[47 MINUTE FACETIME WITH OIKAWA]

[39 MINUTE FACETIME WITH OIKAWA]

[86 MINUTE PHONE CALL WITH OIKAWA]

[28 MINUTE PHONE CALL WITH OIKAWA]

[37 MINUTE PHONE CALL WITH OIKAWA]

[38 MISSED CALLS FROM OIKAWA]

[23 VOICEMAILS FROM OIKAWA]

[48 MINUTE FACETIME WITH OIKAWA]  
[58 MINUTE PHONE CALL WITH OIKAWA]

**Iwaizumi’s Phone, May 2020**

[20 MINUTE PHONE CALL WITH OIKAWA]

[59 MINUTE FACETIME WITH OIKAWA]

[44 MINUTE PHONE CALL WITH OIKAWA]

[10 MISSED CALLS FROM OIKAWA]

[4 VOICEMAILS FROM OIKAWA]

[58 MINUTE PHONE CALL WITH OIKAWA]

**Iwaizumi’s Phone, April 2021**

[58 MINUTE FACETIME WITH OIKAWA]

[23 MINUTE FACETIME WITH OIKAWA]

[10 MINUTE PHONE CALL WITH OIKAWA]

**Iwaizumi’s Phone, January 2022**

[4 MISSED CALLS FROM OIKAWA]

[1 VOICEMAIL FROM OIKAWA]

[20 MINUTE PHONE CALL TO OIKAWA]

**Iwaizumi’s Phone, May 2022**

[1 MISSED CALL FROM OIKAWA]

[1 CANCELLED OUTGOING CALL TO OIKAWA]

**Iwaizumi’s Phone, February 2023**

[NO MISSED CALLS]

**Oikawa’s Phone, May 2024**

[5 MISSED PHONE CALLS FROM IWAIZUMI]

[1 VOICEMAIL FROM IWAIZUMI]

“Hey, I, uh heard about the Olympics. Congrats. Congrats...I guess that means you’ll be in Tokyo again soon...

**July 2024**

It turns out, there’s a lot of distance between _not at the point of complete radio silence_ and _regularly speaking with each other to the point where it feels like they’re in high school again and nothing has changed_. While the transition from high school to college certainly made it difficult to communicate, it paled in comparison to the occasional text message conversations that only made their distance from each other more apparent.

As Takahiro has expected, his relationship with Matsukawa has been the least strained of the four of them. They have scheduled a meetup every couple of weeks since their first year of college - this week being one of them - where they’d go out to eat together, or visit each other’s apartments, or do an… activity together, or something. Normal _best friend since high school stuff,_ Takahiro supposes.

He can’t speak for Iwaizumi and Oikawa, but the forced correctness between their text exchanges in their group chat spoke for themselves. There’s just something about those walls of sparkly emojis that Oikawa sends - they don’t seem the _same_ anymore. Part of Takahiro wants to ask about that, because he’d once known them so well, and even he’d thought that Iwaizumi and Oikawa would outlast him and Matsukawa. But he’s a bit too uninvolved in their lives right now, to be offering any sort of help, so he supposes he’ll leave that for another day - maybe there’ll be a time where they’re all close again.

As much as he’d love to wonder about his other old companions, though, Takahiro’s got a platonic friend date with Matsukawa right after work today he has to get ready for. There’s no time to change out of his work clothes, but it’ll be fine. The restaurant is only a couple of blocks away from his office, and Matsukawa’s place is only about two blocks farther. It’s not like he’s going to ruin his only shirt for the rest of the week or have to run in his dress shoes or anything ridiculous like that.

So Takahiro pulls himself together, loads walking directions to the restaurant into his phone, and heads out to meet his friend.

* * *

Things go much worse than expected. 

Night air nips against Takahiro’s skin as he breaks into a jog toward Matsukawa’s apartment - which is not two, but _twenty_ blocks from the restaurant they spent the last few hours at. Takahiro is still wearing dress shoes from work - seriously, who invented dress shoes and made them so uncomfortable for running? You never know when you’ll have to run, even if you’re working in a dull office as Takahiro does!

Who would’ve thought that a random person in the restaurant would spill the greasiest dish on the menu on Takahiro’s only functioning dress shirt, leaving them to deal with it on their own? It certainly wasn’t their fault, but picking up the pieces from this mess wasn’t going to be easy. 

It doesn’t matter that Takahiro has been to Matsukawa’s apartment before. In the dark, he hardly knows the way. The faint outline of Matsukawa’s feet against the pavement serve as Takahiro’s only guide, aside from the occasional street lamp and traffic light.

(And - honestly- how would he know? How does _Matsukawa_ even know which turns to take, how far to go? Well… point one for the possibility that Matsukawa secretly has night vision, Takahiro supposes.) 

It’s when Takahiro almost misses Matsukawa’s ankles’ sharpest turn yet that he takes a second to assess how much farther they’ll need to go.

“We almost there?”

“Just, like, two more minutes. Promise.”

Certainly reassuring, but Matsukawa’s ankles also accelerate. Not a good sign. Takahiro follows suit, though the rub of his pinky toes against the side of his shoes indicate that this will not be as painless of a night as he’d foolishly anticipated beforehand.

Takahiro suppresses a groan. He hasn’t run like this since _high school,_ and even then, it never quite felt like a life or death situation. 

(It might’ve been for Oikawa, every now and then, when Iwaizumi had decided he’d be out for Oikawa’s blood during afternoon laps. Most of the time, Takahiro thinks, it was deserved.) 

Or, well, maybe what Takahiro and Matsukawa are running for right now isn’t a _life or death_ situation so much as it’s a _will I have a shirt to wear to work tomorrow or will this shirt be my last offering to the gods before I finally descend_ sort of deal. But Takahiro’s conscience insists that the differences between these are just _details, details,_ and Takahiro has never once considered himself as someone who’d go against their conscience or with insignificant details of any sort in his life.

Still, though - it had been a nice night with Matsukawa, before the whole evening went to shit. And to be honest, Takahiro isn't all that displeased with the outcome. They’re together again, despite their hectic schedules, and aside from the ever-expanding stain that’s threatening to end Takahiro’s entire career, nothing, not even the worst shirt stains known to mankind, can get between the two of them tonight.

“Almost,” Matsukawa says, his ankles’ pace finally decelerating. Takahiro slows. Finally, his pinky toes can know peace. 

Thankfully, the lights from the apartment complex illuminate the walkway enough to actually see what’s in front of them. They also reach higher up Matsukawa’s calves, so Takahiro can pry his eyes from Matsukawa’s ankles and onto the rest of his body which is... admittedly a bit more appealing, even in a dress shirt crisis situation.

(Not that there’s anything wrong with admiring _just_ Matsukawa’s ankles. If given the opportunity, Takahiro would admire Matsukawa’s ankles more than he already does, which is already a lot. Does he... have a thing, for ankles? Or is it just... Matsukawa himself? Does he even need to answer that question?)

Matsukawa leads the way to his apartment through the complex, Takahiro stumbling behind him. Once they’ve made it to the front door, Matsukawa rifles through his pants pocket for his keys, apparently buried underneath other items Matsukawa found important enough to bring to their dinner tonight. They’re still short of breath from their jog from the restaurant, but Matsukawa seems in better shape than Takahiro feels. 

Well, in Takahiro’s totally unbiased opinion, Matsukawa has always been good at keeping in shape. 

“Jesus Christ,” Matsukawa says, looking Takahiro up and down and frowning. “It looks...”

 _You like what you see?_ almost rolls off Takahiro’s tongue, thoughtlessly. But Takahiro _did_ think beforehand this time, and... he thinks that that wouldn’t be the best move right now. If they were still in high school, perhaps Takahiro wouldn’t have even hesitated. But they’re older now, and perhaps that’s a bit too much of a landmine to step on, and they’re both still preoccupied with the grease disaster under Takahiro’s armpit, anyway.

“Terrible,” Matsukawa finishes. “Is it... did it get bigger?” 

Takahiro inspects the stain in question. He hadn’t gotten a good look at it at first - he was all too caught up in the initial panic to make accurate assessments on the fly - but it certainly could have.

“It’s... possible?”

“And you need to wear it tomorrow?”

“The rest of the week, actually,” Takahiro replies with a shrug, as Matsukawa finally finds the key, jams it into the door, and holds it open for Takahiro to follow behind. “I’m fucked.”

Matsukawa scoffs, shuffling things around on the apartment floor so Takahiro can get through. “Probably.”

Truth be told, he’s not entirely sure what his work will do if he comes in tomorrow morning wearing a t-shirt and flip flops. Or even if he wore that ridiculous plaid outfit Oikawa had subjected the three of them to in high school. Takahiro thinks he can still feel his retinas burning, if he thinks about the memory hard enough.

He’s not sure if his co-workers would even care, or if they’d even glance at Takahiro more than they’re required to. But he’d like to do something with Matsukawa tonight, to spend a little more time with him, and if that involves exaggerating the stakes of his shirt emergency, then… so be it.

“We’ll figure something out,” Matsukawa continues. Once he’s done clearing the floor of sports equipment and stray papers to his liking, he gestures toward his hallway emphatically. “You know the way to my room?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

He gets changed into one of Matsukawa’s old shirts, and they apply enough dish soap and stain remover on Takahiro’s disaster from the restaurant to kill all the bacteria for at least, like, twenty miles. 

And as much as things might’ve changed, it feels a bit like high school again - Takahiro over at Matsukawa’s place, playing video games and denying that tomorrow morning’s responsibilities will even exist. Of course, wearing Matsukawa’s clothes feels somewhat close to normal, too, bringing back hazy Seijoh memories of swapping jerseys just to confuse the first-years.

Even if it’s not perfect, he’s always satisfied with being by Matsukawa’s side.

* * *

Surprising themselves and literally no one else in their lives, it doesn’t take long for Takahiro and Matsukawa to start dating for real. Their occasional meetings on various weeknights gradually turned into weekly hangouts, where they’d relive old high school memories and bitch about work and push the boundaries of platonic flirting. From there, it was only a matter of time before they’d realized that, just maybe, they’d been practically dating for years anyway, and that starting something new together was worth a shot after all. 

Every once and a while, they’ll try to get a hold of Oikawa and Iwaizumi. It never ended up working out much - beyond a few text messages or, if they were lucky, a brief FaceTime call, it’d been practically radio silence between those two for months. The people that Takahiro had not so long ago considered his best friends started to feel more distant than he’d ever want them to be - and there was hardly anything Takahiro could do about it. 

So Takahiro opts to leave those two be, for the time being, in favor of something else in his life he’s finally found time for.

* * *

It turns out there’s a lot of distance between where they were in high school and where they are now. More than just physical distance, it’s an emotional distance that Tooru feels growing every time he sends a hollow emoji or throws out a teasing remark out of habit. 

His relationship with Matsukawa and Hanamaki has stayed pretty good. Distant, of course, but at least when he talked to them it felt normal. It felt like old times. And he tries to not let it sting when he hears about them hanging out just the two of them, going to dinner or movies. He very pointedly doesn’t call them dates to make fun of them, the sting of going that far would be deadly. 

But it’s all he can do to not compare it to him and Hajime. Hajime, who only speaks to him in the group chat. Hajime, who calls him Oikawa just as often as he calls him some stupid nickname. Hajime, who called him Tooru once and then never again and every day Tooru replays the way his voice sounded when he did. Maybe if Tooru had said something different, had done something different, they wouldn’t be here. 

Tooru shakes his head to clear his thoughts and closes Instagram after liking a stupid picture of Hanamaki and Matsukawa. There’s no time to worry about this, not with the Olympics looming above him.

… 

Teams are assigned physical therapists for the games. Hajime is a physical therapist. Tooru knows these things. Tooru is a brilliant tactical mind and has been complimented for his acumen. 

None of this knowledge prepares him for how his stomach drops like the floor has fallen out from under him when he sees Hajime at the front of the room, introducing himself to the rest of the team. 

Their eyes meet and Tooru can see the moment Hajime shutters his feelings away and puts on a mask of happiness and friendship. They both know they’re faking when they hug, patting each other on their backs like two normal friends. 

The floor continues to fall beneath Tooru.

* * *

The hour break they get between morning and afternoon practice Tooru usually spends by himself. Sure, he could annoy Tobio or get wrapped up in whatever shenanigans Bokuto is engaging in today, but he likes to recharge.

Tooru of four years ago would have wanted to be with the team, flirting and smiling and doing his whole charming Oikawa thing. But somewhere between beaches and learning Spanish, rainforests and learning Portugese he’s learned how important it is for time by himself. 

Instead, he finds himself tucked into a corner, flipping through apps on his phone between bites of reheated leftovers. In an hour he’ll be back on, winking and smiling and making conversation with the reporters there to scout the Olympic team. But right now he’s just Tooru, reading some obscure thread about how aliens definitely are real and there are pictures of them with the Lochness Monster. 

The hour’s nearing close when he gets up to throw out his half-eaten leftovers. Something about being back in Tokyo depletes his appetite to zero these days. 

“Hey, watch where you’re going!”

His peaceful lunch break shatters into a thousand pieces like his heart. Hajim- Iwaizumi’s face is livid as Tooru’s lunch spills down his pristine white t-shirt with MEDICAL printed on the back in crisp red kanji. 

Iwaizumi’s face is so familiarly angry that Tooru almost feels like it’s old times again, and Iwaizumi is telling him off for doing something stupid or flirting with girls before a match. But they’re not in the high school cafeteria anymore and this slight isn’t going to be laughed off. 

“I’m sorry Iwa- Iwaizumi,” Tooru’s still charming, of course, and friendly, of course, but it’s not the same. The ice that has grown between them chills the air between Tooru’s words. 

Iwaizumi lets out a disgruntled sigh.

“It’s fine, Oikawa. I’ll figure something out.” 

Tooru drags Iwaizumi over to a table’s spare napkin dispenser and starts dabbing at the growing stain. 

“I have another shirt, it’s a plain practice shirt if you want it-” 

Iwaizumi jolts backward from Tooru’s hands like he’s been burnt.

“No, it’s okay,” Iwaizumi ignores Tooru’s skeptical look, “really, it’s fine.” 

Tooru reaches out to grab Iwaizumi’s arm. 

“It’s definitely going to stain! Let me help I know how much you hate-” 

Iwaizumi snaps.

“You don’t know anything about me, Oikawa.” 

Now it’s Tooru’s turn to pull away like he’s been burnt. And he’s been burning, festering, smoldering his anger and feelings at Iwaizumi dropping him once Oikawa left the continent have been sizzling beneath the surface for a lot longer than the stain has been growing on Iwaizumi’s shirt.

He lets out a bitter laugh. 

“No, I guess you’re right, Iwaizumi. You made sure of that.” 

Iwaizumi’s mouth drops open. 

“I” he gestures to himself incredulously, “I made sure of that?” 

Tooru throws a balled up napkin into the trash next to them and tries to push past Iwaizumi. He’s suddenly very, very not in the mood for this anymore. But Iwaizumi doesn’t take the hint, doesn’t let him push past and instead grabs his arm tightly. Tooru misses to his very core when they could read each other’s minds.

“You made sure of that, Tooru,” Iwaizumi spits the name like a curse, “You left us. Me and Hanamaki and Matsukawa put in the work to see you! We put in the work to reach out to you!” 

Tooru spins, wrenching his arm out of Iwaizumi’s grasp. 

“Obviously you didn’t try hard enough, Hajime,” Tooru remembers how venomous he could be, and all his bitterness rises to the surface with the fat.

It doesn’t escape him that Iwaizumi says we. Us. Not him. Of course not. How could Tooru have thought he would mean anything more to Iwaizumi. They’re just friends. Two bros. Nothing else, no matter how much Tooru’s heart grows with the desire for more. This is part of why he left, why he put the distance between them. His friendship with Iwaizumi was always just that: a friendship. The same as Hanamaki and Matsukawa. Tooru was a fool to believe any different.

“You obviously didn’t try hard enough, Iwaizumi. At least Matsukawa and Hanamaki talk to me for more than five minutes. At least they could look me in the eyes. But when I left you saw the out and you took it. Whatever distance there is between us is because of you. Not me.”

And finally, Tooru is free. He ignores Bokuto’s questioning stares when he gets into the locker room and pushes the whole stupid argument and his own stupid feelings aside. He’s a professional, and he’s here to play, not relive his high school heartbreaks. 

When he sees Iwaizumi later wearing another teammate's warm up t-shirt, he pretends it doesn’t burn him all over again.

**Iwaizumi’s phone, June 2025**

[38 MINUTE PHONE CALL WITH HANAMAKI]

[MISSED FACETIME FROM OIKAWA]

[MISSED FACETIME FROM OIKAWA]

[1 TEXT MESSAGE FROM OIKAWA]

Oikawa: Can you believe Makki and Mattsun! They grow up so fast :’) :’) :’) Excited to be best man with you! 

[1 CANCELLED PHONE CALL TO OIKAWA]

**Oikawa’s Phone, July 2025**

[5 MISSED CALLS FROM IWAIZUMI]

[1 VOICEMAIL FROM IWAIZUMI]

“Oikawa…Tooru... [distant laughter, sounds of the phone falling and being picked up] I- I miss- [phone call ends]”

[4 MISSED CALLS FROM IWAIZUMI]

**Iwaizumi’s Phone, November 2025**

[1 MISSED CALL FROM OIKAWA]

[1 VOICEMAIL FROM OIKAWA]

“Hey, Iwaizumi. I know I said I would come back for the cake tasting but I’m not going to make it. Tell Makki and Mattsun I said I’m sorry. Bye.” 

Hajime has never once in his life wanted to plan a wedding. He’s watched the shows late at night, when all the good programs are off and the only thing left on television is middle-aged women yelling at their daughters based on what dress they want to wear. The stress of it all, even through the superficial editing of reality TV, has turned Hajime in opposition towards weddings, let alone planning them.

For Hanamaki and Matsukawa, though, Hajime will do anything and everything—taking on the role of best man and holding the highest responsibility in planning their wedding is not separate from that dedication for them.

Despite his determination to make their wedding go as smooth as possible, having to work with Oikawa, the other best man, isn’t something Hajime finds all that easy—especially not considering the past few exchanges they’ve had.

Awkward, to say the least, is what Hajime’s relationship with Oikawa has become.

Uneasy, may be another adjective to best wrap itself in connotation with the situation settled between them.

But Hajime will manage, will have to manage working with Oikawa, for the betterment of Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s wedding.

Things go smoothly at first, although Hajime’s still wary about how much of Oikawa is going to put himself and his time into calling caterers, cake shops, tailors, and myriad other services to ensure the perfection of this wedding. Even with the speculation heavy in his head, Hajime can’t deny that Oikawa manages to keep his shit together enough to where planning things together is okay.

If anything, they’re at least talking more because of the roles they’ve been given—although their phone calls only last a good ten to twenty minutes and are always centered around the wedding, never of their personal lives.

It’s a little weird, Hajime has to admit that, but it’s better than not talking at all, he supposes.

That is until Oikawa’s support and action starts to slowly flicker out, the last twist of a wick at the bottom of an already deliquesced candle. 

Hajime’s standing in the middle of a bakery, surrounded by cherry-faced strangers and cheerful employees, left hand curled into his pocket, right hand holding the phone pressed to his ear. He knows that Oikawa has another day until he has to be on the next flight out of the city, he has no reason to ditch the time he and Hajime had set to meet with the baker to decide on how the cake, that’s meant to be overly dramatic while comical, is going to play out—funds wise and all.

“Come on Tooru, pick up the fucking phone,” Hajime grumbles, or at least he thinks he grumbles; a middle-aged woman cups the ears of her kid, who appears about six or seven, and shoots an aghast glare Hajime’s way.

Whatever. Hajime couldn’t care less about offending some random kid with lollipop stains circling his puckered mouth, nor does he care about offending the mother who looks as though she’d return a plate to the kitchen four times before demanding that her meal be free of charge.

He doesn’t have time to worry about them, because Oikawa’s phone goes straight to voicemail for the third time.

After one last try, again to no avail, Hajime mutes his phone and shoves it into his pocket. He walks up to the front counter, fake smile plastered onto his face to mask the irritation warping his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” he says to the worker behind the counter, “I guess my friend won’t be joining me for the consultation.”

Luckily enough for Hajime, he doesn’t need Oikawa’s gracious opinion on the cake, because he knows Hanamaki and Matsukawa just as much as Oikawa does, and is more than satisfied with the envisions both he and the baker came up with.

This still doesn’t lessen the exasperation targeted at Oikawa. He was supposed to be there and he bailed without even sending a text to let Hajime know that something had come up.

So, fuck him.

When Hajime gets back to his apartment, settles onto his couch and reaches for the article he had been reading hours earlier about muscle pain, he gets a call. Oikawa’s designated ringtone.

Hajime answers the phone after trying his best to pacify his anger, but despite his efforts, he can’t hold back from the rush of fury that comes from hearing an airport in the back of Oikawa’s call.

“You better have a good fucking reason for this, Oikawa,” he says.

“First of all, I called you yesterday and you didn’t answer, that’s not my problem if you didn’t get the message. But I get it, and I’m really sorry. Coach said he needed us back tomorrow night and I had to get on the soonest flight, and that was for this afternoon—”

Hajime hadn’t gotten any call, at least not to his knowledge, but decides to ignore that.

“You serious? You went back home?”

“Do I sound like I’m joking? I’m literally in an airport, I know you can hear it.”

“No, I know you’re not joking, but I just think it’s pretty fucked up that you can’t make one exception for the responsibility that your friends gave to you because they _trust_ you and have all the faith in you being active in their wedding.”

“Seriously, Hajime?” 

As Oikawa usually does, he pulls out the first name for emphasis. He only ever uses it when he’s hurt nowadays, not that Oikawa ever called Hajime by anything other than Iwa beforehand.

“Seriously, Tooru.”

And as Hajime usually does, he throws it right back in Oikawa’s face, but lets Oikawa’s name coil with a seething tone.

“I don’t have time for this, seriously, just call me whenever we need to talk next,” Oikawa says and Hajime can tell he just wants to get off the phone.

“Whatever,” is all Hajime says before hanging up.

He doesn’t call Oikawa the next time they’re meant to discuss table decorations.

Nor does he call Oikawa the week after that when they’re meant to pick suits out of the three Mattsukawa had chosen.

He doesn’t call Oikawa at all, picks up all of his responsibilities and lets him work on whatever the hell he has to get done. Hajime refuses to waste time worrying over whether or not Oikawa’s going to actually help. 

If he wants to reach out, if he wants something to do, then Hajime will give him the simplest task, a color choice, a fabric choice, something that doesn’t require Oikawa to split himself and his attention in half, since that apparently can’t be done.

It’s two months after the cake situation when the three of them are grabbing drinks after working hours, that Hanamaki asks, “How are things going? Planning and all.”

Hajime doesn’t even bother to fight the laugh that ripples from his chest. “You mean me doing everything and Oikawa not giving a single fuck? Fine, I guess. I’m enjoying it.”

Mattsukawa not-so-discreetly shoots Hanamaki a worried look, one that Hajime can’t entirely decode. Maybe it’s best that he can’t.

“If you need any help, you know you can come to us,” Mattsukawa starts, but Hajime immediately waves his hand, disregarding the statement.  
“This is your wedding. You’re not going to worry about anything,” Hajime says, “Oikawa can’t be here? Fine. He doesn’t want to do anything? Fine. He’s busy or whatever and that’s fine. I’m genuinely enjoying making sure that everything stays on track.

His two friends share another look and Hajime huffs, “I’m serious, now stop doing that weird mental communication thing. It’s scary.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with handling everything on your own?” Hanamaki asks, to which Hajime nods.

“Your wedding is going to be great and you’re going to love it and it’ll all be because of my masterminded way of putting it together,” he answers before downing a shot of scotch.

His friends still look skeptical about Hajime’s response, but he’s being more than honest; between managing his job and planning their wedding, Hajime’s had little to no time to be bothered by the protuberance of Oikawa’s neverending absence. Surprisingly enough, Hajime’s begun to love working on Hanamaki and Mattsukawa’s wedding—to the point of happily counting down the days until its arrival.

When Hajime departs from the group to head home, he realizes that there’s a voicemail from Oikawa. He chuckles, locks his phone, and puts it back in his pocket.

In the morning, Hajime wakes up to Oikawa at his doorstep.

“What do you want?” Hajime says, entirely disinterested in why Oikawa’s there.

“We have to pick the tablecloth this week, no?” Oikawa asks, pushing past Hajime into the apartment.

He could yell, force Oikawa back outside, but Hajime does nothing—just lets Oikawa walk in and do whatever he wants, which apparently is circling the dining room table with various fabrics scattered on its top.

“You show up out of nowhere for that?” Hajime questions, slamming his door shut and following Oikawa into his kitchen.

“You didn’t pick up the phone last night, I called to let you know I was hopping on a plane over.”

“Why, though?”

“I have a couple of free days,” Oikawa says with a nonchalant shrug.

Hajime rolls his eyes. “Oh, marvelous, how wonderful it is of you to spend your gracious free days picking between cotton and polyester cloth.” 

“I’m here to help, Iwaizumi,” Oikawa says, voice devoid of any emotion, “the least you can do is accept it.”

“The least you can do is actually be present enough to help,” Hajime snaps.

He catches the way that Oikawa starts to retort, but Hajime takes up all the air in the room before Oikawa has the chance, “Do you even plan on coming to the ceremony at all, or bailing on that, too?”

“Stop acting like it’s your wedding, Hajime,” Oikawa says, picking up a stray piece of fabric and shooting him a look that warns him to back off.

“I’m not going to let you ruin this for them,” Hajime says, snatching the fabric out of Oikawa’s grasp and dropping it back onto the table, “so you’d best decide whether or not you’re going to be around to actually help soon.”

Oikawa huffs, rolls his eyes, and turns towards the large window of Hajime’s living room. He stares out at the sky with an empty face and Hajime just wants him out. Oikawa’s help has been pointless—menial tasks that he’s hardly been able to complete without half-assing it or stopping halfway through, shoving the responsibility onto Hajime’s shoulders. 

“They’re my best friends, too.”

“Clearly.” 

Hajime could laugh—because the Oikawa he knew back in high school would’ve proved this with his entire heart, through diving headfirst into action and showing how much he cared for his friends. This new Oikawa, this sun-tanned and lightly freckled Oikawa is a complete contrast to Hajime’s high school best friend. He proves nothing that isn’t off the court, keeps his sentences short and petty in an attack to reinstate that yes, he does want to help his friends. 

In reality, his life is too much now to fit into the domesticity of Hajime, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa. That realization doesn’t make it any easier to understand, it doesn’t dissolve the anger for Oikawa’s lack of presence—both mentally and physically.

“I’ve already picked out the table cloths,” Hajime says, “so you can hop on the next flight back to wherever you actually need to be and stop pretending that you care about putting this thing together.”

Whether this thing be the wedding or the cracked remnants of what used to be their friendship, Hajime doesn’t know.

Hajime expects at least a _don’t be like that_ or _come on, now_ , but neither of those phrases, or even anything similar, comes from Oikawa’s mouth. He adjusts the strap of his duffle bag on his right shoulder and nods.

“Okay.”

It’s the last thing he says before walking out of Hajime’s apartment, never to show back up for the remainder of the planning period. From that day, they only text when absolutely necessary and don’t bother calling for any conversations about the wedding.

Radio silence is what they have.

And Hajime has gotten more than used to the white noise.

**April 2026**

If this were Hajime’s wedding in which he didn’t have to listen to the foundational decisions made by two grooms, the colors would’ve been less vibrant and jarring to the eye. This isn’t his wedding, however, and some people (Takahiro and Issei) simply have horrible taste when it comes to decoration and design.

“I still hate you for making me wearing this stupid ass purple tie,” Hajime grumbles, tugging the tie off and tossing it at Issei’s face, who catches it with ease.

“You look adorable in it, though,” Issei grins, to which Hajime shoots him one of his deadliest glares with no remorse whatsoever. 

“And you’ll look adorable in the grave I’m digging for you.”

“Stop threatening my husband, Iwaizumi,” Takahiro chimes in, turning from a couple of other guests and into their conversation. He slings an arm around Issei’s waist and leans in towards Hajime, “I’d at least like to have him around for a couple of years.”

“If he hadn’t forced me to wear something so atrocious, then I wouldn’t have to threaten his life,” Hajime says, shoving Takahiro’s shoulder.

“In my most gracious opinion, I think you looked great with the tie.”

Hajime turns at the sound of Oikawa coming from behind his left shoulder, eyes a little wide and head running with thousands of possible responses. He shoves his hands into the pockets, tries to fumble for loose threads to hold onto, to distract himself with—but nothing. Issei and Takahiro really had chosen the best brand for suits, leaving no chance for Hajime to find reassurance amidst the awkwardness.

Issei breaks away from his husband’s hold and launches himself at Oikawa, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Takahiro follows shortly after and Hajime takes a few steps back, sparing Oikawa a mere glance before turning on his heel to find the bar. Alcohol would dissipate his anxieties, the tension, all of it—maybe it would even make Oikawa disappear entirely.

What feels like hours pass by in blurred flashes of downing various drinks and sneaking cheese and crackers off of random plates—a little unhygienic, maybe, but Hajime can’t find it in himself to care. Oikawa gets lost in the crowd, or at least it’s impossible for Hajime to see him through the mix of couples dancing, talking, enjoying the reception as a whole.

Without even really realizing it, Hajime ends up in the garden right out back of the reception hall. He settles down on the flat curve of the stone fountain, centered around delicate pink and blue hydrangea bushes, with a few white rose bushes scattered here and there.  
Rose bushes are rooted demons. Once settled into the ground, it’s damn near impossible to rip them up from the soil. They grow and grow and grow until they’ve slithered into every crevice of a garden—stating their place, declaring this their home.

The thorns are another story. Prickly, yet gentle—rose thorns are the sword that not only breaks the skin, but finds home with the flesh and refuses to leave. It’s comparable to being stung by a bee, but on an entirely different level.

Bees are breathing creatures—they have niches and they live and fly with a purpose set at birth, but roses are meant for beauty, for decoration. They bloom, one after the other, to be looked at and admired. To Hajime, it doesn’t make much sense that a living, flying insects’ thorn hurts less than that of one sprouting from a stem.

Maybe it’s because of the fact that pricking yourself on a rose is entirely your fault; it’s either your hand slipped and scratched itself along the spikes or you fell for the petals and wanted to hold them in your own hand, unaware of the threat that comes from the desire to control beauty.

Hajime has never held a rose in his life out of fear for those sharp points.

He has, however, held Oikawa a few times.

Times that he’s thought about a lot in his life—like after the Karasuno match, the loss that flipped their stomachs and forced them to realize that high school isn’t where it ends (for Oikawa, at least), but where everything begins. He has held Oikawa close and dear, to the point where Hajime was able to feel his best friend’s heart thumping in tandem with his, as if they had the exact same heart, but it’s through those embraces that Oikawa has planted the seeds of not affection, but bushes. 

Oikawa Tooru is a rose bush that’s planted himself at the core of Hajime’s heart, and has spread to the tips of his fingers all the way to the bottom of his feet—relentless and forceful.

The thorns, Hajime thinks, have yet to come.

“Best man and you can’t stay at the party?”

Again—relentless and forceful. Hajime can’t stomach a conversation with Oikawa right now, not when he’s drunk and consumed with almost decade old emotions that he’s grown weary of. He doesn’t want to even interact with Oikawa, because he knows—Hajime knows he’ll slip out and spill everything out onto the floor, and it’ll be disastrous.

Everything is always disastrous when Oikawa is involved and falling in love with him is no sweet and tender exception. If anything, it’s even more catastrophic. 

“I needed air.”

“You needed air?” Oikawa says, voice tilting with the tease of a petty question. “Or you needed air from me?”

Hajime glances up at Oikawa, sees the glint of irritation in his gaze, and rolls his eyes.

“Don’t make this about yourself, Tooru,” Hajime replies, “I don’t do well with crowds.”

“You haven’t done well with me for years.”

Hajime leans back on his hands, pressed to the stone, and shoots his attention up to the star dappled night sky. Oikawa’s not entirely wrong, but Hajime can tell that there’s implications of this being his fault, his issue, rather than it being equally on Oikawa’s part.

He really isn’t sober enough for this conversation.

Despite the tension and space spread between them, Hajime thinks he still knows how to handle Oikawa, how to keep him at bay—at least when Hajime isn’t worked up over all that’s happened between them; the silence, the avoiding. 

And at this moment, Hajime isn’t entirely sure what he is. He’s hurt, that’s definite, but the majority of him is beyond the anger and rage bubbling from the inner chasms of his heart. It’s been a tiring battle of bouncing back and forth between wanting to scream at Oikawa and forget his existence.

All Hajime has now is the inbetween. 

The awkward confrontations in a garden with flowers that he once would’ve liked to have in his own garden, now the sight of them is ruined by the aroma of Oikawa’s expensive cologne. 

In his childish fantasies, Hajime always imagined a simple home, nothing special, but with an extravagant garden, or at least what would be considered extravagant for a physical therapist whose money mainly went towards his best friends’ bar tabs. He always pictured bushes of red, pink, blue, purple, yellow, white—all of the flowers. He never thought about the type or how many, just the colors. 

Seeing the bushes in this garden, though, Hajime quite likes the look of hydrangeas and roses; how in one clump of hydrangeas, there looks to be hundreds of little flowers, all coming together to make one alluring circle of spring—how in the roses Hajime can see the ups and downs of life, the beautiful petals and the threatening thorns.

But now Hajime will never know the real way roses and hydrangeas smell, the way they bloom and petal under the sun—because of Oikawa.

Because of Oikawa.

Everything always feels like it’s because of Oikawa.

And it feels too late for Hajime to grasp, but the home, the garden, the sunlight cascading through the broken clouds, the cheek-straining smiles—they only ever made sense because Oikawa was there, too.

“For me to do well around you,” Hajime says, “you’d have to be around. It’s difficult to ignore you when you aren’t here.”

“Phones exist,” Oikawa responds and out of his peripherals, Hajime can see him cross his arms over his chest. 

“Yeah, they do, but they also work both ways, Oikawa.”

“So you’re saying this is my fault?”

Hajime sighs and drops his head. “I’m saying that you’ve fucked up, too. That we’re both complicit in whatever the fuck happened between us.”

“Nothing’s happened, Hajime,” Oikawa says, tone twisting with exasperation. “You’ve been acting like we aren’t friends anymore, like things have changed to where I’m unreachable, so you’ve shut yourself off from me and it’s—it’s annoying.”

Hajime lifts his head to look at Oikawa. “Annoying?”

“More than annoying.”

“You got too busy for me, I can’t lie to you and say that it wasn’t upsetting. Change stings and I wasn’t ready for it.”

“What?” Oikawa asks.

“What?” Hajime echoes his question right back.

“You said too busy for me–”

“Yeah?”

“—not too busy for us. You forgot Mattsun and Makki.”

Oh.

Oh fuck.

“Too busy for us, then,” Hajime says.

Oikawa crosses the garden and drops down next to Hajime—the proximity shooting straight to his chest.  
“No,” he says, “no retracing your steps, Hajime, you said that I got too busy for you.”

Hajime shrugs, trying his hardest to ignore the slight brush of their shoulders when he moves.

“I mean, you did. Didn’t you?” 

Gentle waves of tears start to lick the inside of his throat, choking him only a bit and Hajime wants to swallow them whole. He can’t cry in front of Oikawa. He can’t cry at all.

Then it all comes back—the silence; Oikawa looking off into the distance, probably separating himself from the situation and coming up with ways to turn this back around and keep thinking that things are okay, that their relationship hasn’t shifted, that reality hasn’t altered in Oikawa’s favor.

“I’m really proud of you, you know that right?” Hajime asks. “Like insanely proud of how much you’ve grown. Olympics, national team, all of that shit. You’re still the greatest partner I’ve ever had, Tooru.”

Hajime can feel Oikawa’s gaze on him then, burning into his skin, engraving - into his skin.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t said it much or that I’ve been a little too selfish in expecting you to still be around like you were in high school. You’ve grown and that’s great and I’m really fucking proud of you, but—”

“But you miss me,” Oikawa finishes for him. 

Hajime pauses, then nods.

“Yeah, I miss you.”

The silence isn’t weird this time around. 

Maybe it’s because Oikawa isn’t deflecting his feelings, at least it doesn’t seem like he is. Maybe it’s because Oikawa is looking right at Hajime and not staring far off into the sky, or the garden, or anywhere else other than Hajime. 

Maybe things are shifting between them again.

Hajime can’t decipher what it is—the underlying tones in this pause, the tiny shadow on the slope of Oikawa’s nose, and how the moonlight beams down just right on the curve, the way Oikawa’s looking at him in a way he hasn’t seen in years.

“It’s hard,” Oikawa whispers, breaking his gaze to look at his hands, cupped in his lap, “moving on from the person you love, even if it’s to go after everything you want in life. Leaving that person behind, watching their silhouette get dimmer in the sunset until the light is gone and there’s just… nothing. It’s not easy. It wasn’t for me.”

Hajime stiffens. It’s as though all of the alcohol that assisted in dragging him away from Oikawa tonight is drained from his veins, bleeds onto the grass beneath his feet, and sobers him up.

_Moving on from the person you love._

Oikawa hadn’t hesitated when he said that. He didn’t stumble or even try to go back and fix himself —no remorse, no second thoughts.

“The person you love?” he asks, shifting just a bit closer to Oikawa, leaning in slightly to make sure he hears him correctly. 

Oikawa looks up at Hajime and he can see the tears glistening in his dark eyes, then says, “Don’t act like you haven’t known all this time, Hajime. Everyone could tell.”

But Hajime hasn’t been able to tell anything. Ever.

“I never… I never knew,” Hajime says, quickly, “honest.”

“Okay,” Oikawa says with a little nod and Hajime hopes that he genuinely believes him, because he never had the slightest clue of Oikawa’s affections. Hell, he hadn’t even been cognizant of his own.

Hajime can’t find anything to say. He stumbles over all the ways he can go with this conversation—he could confess, tell Oikawa all the ways that he feels the same and that he’s been so upset and angry by Oikawa’s absence because of how much he loves him, but with that, there’s the possibility of Oikawa having moved on. 

He’ll have to go back to his practices, his matches, the entire life, in the next few days, anyway. There won’t be any time to balance a relationship and Hajime can’t put him through fighting himself to force that balance.

“I stayed distant because I was too attached to you,” Oikawa says before Hajime has the chance to respond, “if I didn’t separate myself from you I probably would’ve grown so frustrated with being gone all the time that I quit playing, and I didn’t want to quit.”

“I never would’ve made you do that—”

Oikawa laughs, head tilting back and Hajime can’t help but stare at the way the moon glides down his neck. He blinks, then looks away. “I know you wouldn’t have. You probably would’ve killed me if I even mentioned quitting. I just didn’t know what else to do to keep myself from jumping on the next flight home.”

“Your mother wouldn’t have taken you back if you did that,” Hajime teases, elbowing him gently in the ribs.

“I wouldn’t have gone to her house in the first place,” Oikawa says, “I would’ve gone to yours.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you in.”

“Yes, you would’ve.”

“Not a chance. I would’ve let you sleep on the streets.”

Oikawa pouts at that, and a quiet laugh trickles from Hajime’s chest.

“Stop acting like you wouldn’t invite me inside the very second I step onto your doorstep—”

“Oikawa, I wouldn’t even open the door.”

“You would’ve let me sleep in your bed,” Oikawa says.

“After these past few years? You’d be forced onto the couch at best.”

It’s only a joke, a teasing thing that’s evident in the lilt of Hajime’s voice, but Oikawa clearly doesn’t take it that way. His face falls, all the gentle happiness fades within a moment and Hajime starts to mentally trip over the ways to piece together an apology.

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa says quietly, dipping his chin towards his chest. “I’m really, really sorry for everything. I should’ve been better and I could’ve been, y’know? Balance is difficult to manage, but I could’ve done it. You know that right? You think that I can do everything and I let you down, Hajime, I let you down repeatedly and I’m sor—”

Hajime has heard Oikawa apologize for too many things in the duration of their friendship—when he accidentally pushed Hajime into the lake one childhood summer, he apologized through tears of laughter to the way he apologized for failing as a captain, as a friend, as a partner. He’s heard enough of Oikawa’s apologies.

If one were to track down every single conversation they’ve had together, they’d be able to count thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions of apologies—but Hajime doesn’t care about them.

He doesn’t want them, doesn’t need them.

All he wants is Oikawa Tooru—body, mind, and soul.

He’s all Hajime has ever wanted and maybe there won’t be another moment like this one, where they’re talking about everything and trying to understand these past few years of silence and evasion.

A moment where he feels free enough to lift his hands to Oikawa’s rosied cheeks and pull him close, to lean in just as equally and close all the distance, every mile between Tokyo and Argentina, between Hajime’s apartment and Oikawa’s childhood home, between the ignored calls and unanswered texts, between the few centimeters distance of their lips.

Hajime crosses all borders, jumps across every line that might’ve been set, and kisses Oikawa in every single way he’s ever thought of. 

Oikawa tenses at his touch, shoulders square and fists clenched tight, but just as Hajime runs over the decision to pull away, he relaxes. Hajime feels the worry slip out of his head.

Then Oikawa’s kissing him back, his hands finding the nape of Hajime’s neck, and the scrape of the stone is irritating and stings, but Hajime doesn’t care. He doesn’t think Oikawa does either, because everything is starting to click into place, the clock gears are starting to turn in tandem, and time is moving again.

“I don’t want to hear you say sorry again, ever,” Hajime whispers after pulling apart slightly from Oikawa.

“If this was just to make me qui—”

“You fucking idiot.” Hajime laughs, breathless. “I’m in love with you, too. That’s why it hurt so much, you being gone, because I wanted you. God, I wanted to be with you so bad.”

Oikawa doesn’t say anything back, only tugs Hajime closer to connect their lips again.

If this were a fairytale, Hajime would think it a happy ending. The prince and whoever end up together, against all odds. They’re kissing, holding each other, and for the first time in what feels like eons, everything is okay. The waves have mellowed down to a gentle sway—Hajime and Oikawa standing in the middle of the calm push and pull.

“Can you assholes stop making out and rejoin the party?” A voice calls out, forcing Hajime and Oikawa to separate with a jolt. Takahiro leans over the balcony from the second floor of the reception hall, a smug expression coating his face.

“Seriously! At _our_ own wedding, can you believe it?” Issei says, loud enough for it to echo down to the garden.

Hajime catches the way Oikawa blushes at their loudness and laughs when he starts to wave his hands to shut them up.

“Fine, fine! We’ll come back!” Oikawa says, jumping up from the fountain.

He turns to Hajime, extending a hand that Hajime immediately takes. Their fingers intertwine, almost subconsciously, and Hajime can’t wipe the grin off his face.

“It’s about fucking time!” Takahiro all but screams.

“Shut up!” Hajime calls back, flipping him off with his free hand.

“We have to take pictures and I need blackmail for _your_ wedding, so hurry up!”

Oikawa squeezes Hajime’s hand when Issei says that, either a little shocked or a little scared at the idea of their own wedding—this late in their life, this late in their friendship, but Hajime circles him thumb over Oikawa’s knuckles and his grip relents. 

“I guess we should go, then,” Oikawa says.

Hajime nods. “Before they drown us in the fountain.”

And they go, they rejoin the reception and take probably the worst pictures in their entire lives. All four of them leaning over each other, practically tackling each other mid-shot, with embarrassing faces, stretched in an exaggerated expression of joy and jubilance.

When it’s all over and the room’s sparse, the newly-weds have already departed for the night, Hajime and Oikawa stand outside, backs resting against Hajime’s car with Oikawa’s arm wrapped around Hajime’s shoulders.

“When do you leave?” Hajime asks.

“The end of the week,” Oikawa answers, “but I’ll come back to visit soon, promise. Or I’ll fly you out whenever you can get off work, whatever, I don’t care.”

* * *

“Stay at my place tonight?”

“As long as you don’t force me to sleep on the couch,” Oikawa teases and Hajime laughs.

“Not unless you want to, Tooru.”

“God, no, your couch is so uncomfortable. We need to get you a new one.”

“Unless you plan on moving in, you don’t have the right to degrade my furniture choice.”

Oikawa’s cheeks flush and he shoves Hajime away, making him stumble as he starts to laugh even harder. 

“I’m getting you a new couch,” Oikawa says.

Hajime regains his balance somehow, inwardly wanting to punch Oikawa’s shoulder for pushing him when he still isn’t sober, and steps to stand in front of Oikawa. He wraps his arms around Oikawa’s middle and grins. “Even though you plan on sleeping in my bed?”

“Even though I plan on sleeping in your bed,” Oikawa repeats.

So, no, it’s not a fairytale with some pristine, perfect ending where everyone’s cheering and music is playing and people are dancing around the new couple. It’s not even close to being something of trashy fiction found on the shelves of a small market, those books that only middle aged women read. 

This, whatever it is, is life; the only life that Hajime has known, the only one he has ever wanted, ever needed.


End file.
